


Visit from the Other Side

by Joel7th



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: missing scene perhaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joel7th/pseuds/Joel7th
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very last thing the Mikaelson siblings, taking refuge from death in Freya’s dream world as they were, expected was a knocking on their door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visit from the Other Side

The very last thing the Mikaelson siblings, taking refuge from death in Freya’s dream world as they were, expected was a knocking on their door.

It happened not terribly long after they had settled in this darling family home, still figuring out what to do to kill the indefinite time they might have to spend here until Hayley found the cure. Tending to the imaginary, ever perfectly groomed garden? Reading the limited number of books Freya had in the library, most of which being fairy tales of various cultures they had read far too many times to be appropriate? Playing board games?

The knocking was soft, indicating a level of politeness, but every one of them felt it as if it was knocking on their mind.

The rest of them gave Freya a dubious look, and the eldest Mikaelson shook her head lightly as a means of refuting this was her doing.

… which could only be translated as an intruder!

All of them tensed up.

The knocking didn’t cease even when it received no answer from the other side of the door; the knocker, whatever their identity was, was persistent.

Being the most composed amongst them, Elijah stepped forward to answer the door.

On the threshold was casually standing a man whose face none of them had expected or desired to see in this world.

Tristan de Martel, Elijah’s first sired vampire, who should be drowning in a magically sealed container lying somewhere in the depth of an ocean none of them cared which.

Aware or not, all the Mikaelson siblings sported a ubiquitous look of surprise.

The bad kind of surprise. Like, really bad.

“Hello, Elijah, Freya,” he greeted them with a cordial smile far too fake for those who had learnt of his many menageries. “It’s been a while, Kol. And Rebekah dear, your beauty is even more ravishing than the last time we met. How many centuries was it?”

“What the bloody hell is he doing here?” Rebekah asked, giving the unexpected and unwelcome ‘guest’ her darkest glare possible.

“What’s your intention?” Freya hissed, joining her little sister in the intense competition to find who could glare Tristan to obliteration first. “Spill it quick before I send you screaming back to your salted rotting flesh!”

Tristan appeared little affected by the raging Original sisters, too accustomed to their combined wrath. Mikael’s blood, both of them. “I have absolutely no doubt of your varied talents, Freya, put in slumber as you are currently. But I’m quite certain you do not want to send your brother Elijah along with me when you expel me from your little ‘nursery school’.”

“What do you mean by that, Tristan?” Elijah asked in his cool, authoritative voice, one he would use with his sirelings to remind them of their position, plus a sharp menacing edge reserved only for his eldest, most stubborn and petulant ‘child’.

“A spell, courtesy of my witches whom you sucked dry,” Tristan explained, “to make certain that should the _Chambre de Chasse_ be demolished, which it had, sorrily, I would not suffer at the bottom of the ocean-”

“A _parasitus honestum_ ,” Kol made a derisive sound.

“Yes, a parasite spell,” Tristan said, unapologetically, “and it is most fitting that the host be my sire, who is an indestructible, omnipotent being.” His eyes scanned their faces, “Though I’m now less confident about the description, seeing all of you taking refugee here from whom? A three-hundred-year-old Marcel Gerald!”

“You’ve been clinging to my brother like a vile disease,” said Rebekah with no intention of masking the disdain in her tone, “and what do you demand now? A place under our roof as well?”

“That would be the best case scenario but I will not stretch the extent of your generosity as I am perfectly content taking resident in the alcove, amongst your lovely rose bushes. However, I come not with malice but with a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” asked Freya.

“A mutually befitting one, for whose details I dare request my sire’s private audience.”

Kol’s and Rebekah’s eyes directed towards Elijah, anticipating his decision. He, in turn, exchanged a brief glance with his elder sister and received her nod.

“Come in,” Elijah said, gesturing his first sired to follow, which he did.

Kol sported a murderous look as he eyed Tristan’s disappearing back while Rebekah and Freya folded their arms, both contemplating what the wicked vampire’s deal was, their brother’s reaction and how they should dispose the annoying little twit some time later. There was no way they would gladly have him sharing their place!

Elijah and Tristan walked a short, muted walk along the corridor and reached a room at the end.

Tristan didn’t have a second to admire Freya’s artistic eye in her selection of furniture because as soon as the door was secured, he found himself pressed flat against the wall by a serenely furious Elijah – there was a smile on his lips and fire in his eyes.

To be completely honest, Tristan did lament the lack of such rough treatment during his ‘non-Elijah’ period, discomfort aside.

He managed to not grimace despite the ache clawing its hooks along his backbone. In this dream world nothing was real and yet every sensation felt so genuine, so true. The power of the mind was indeed a force to be reckoned with.

“You do realize you cannot truly hurt me, don’t you?”

A hand in Tristan’s ribcage was his reply.

Tristan inhaled a sharp breath, his lips slightly quivering as an expected result of a hand’s taking hold of his heart. Elijah arched a mocking eyebrow.

“It’s true you can still hurt me,” he bleated, “… to a certain degree.”

Tristan wouldn’t say he did not miss this exquisite pain either. A masochist through and through, he was aware, in spite of his torture pastime, whose peculiar needs only the brutality of a certain Original could satisfy.

“And if I try a little harder,” said Elijah, his head titling and his eyes piercing darkly into Tristan’s impossibly blue orbs, “I might succeed in uprooting you from this realm and flinging you back to where you belong.”

He punctuated his sentence with a squeeze of his fingers.

“I hate to disappoint you, Elijah, but it requires a much longer, complicated procedure than a heart ripped or a head chopped to legitimately put an ocean between us. The link that binds your spirit and mine was The Sisters’ peak and it is annulled only if my suffering is.”

“When?”

“When Aya put you and Niklaus in comatose, she had the witches make you the anchor for my soul as secure measures, just in case their crafted world collapsed. Thanks to her thoughtfulness, wherever you are, I am,” he chuckled. “I’ve been lurking in your mind since, seeing through your eyes how the prophecy unfolded. My sincerest apologies for being privy.”

“Now you decided to blow your cover to say ‘hi’?”

“As we’re all here, it’s futile to keep myself hidden… Would you mind retracting your hand? I’m not bothered by our closeness but a palm squeezing my incorporeal heart is very distracting.”

Elijah snorted but pulled his hand out from Tristan’s chest nonetheless. The gaping hole closed on itself just as how vampirism worked, only there was no tear on Tristan’s immaculate shirt and no blood on Elijah’s hand.

“Thank you,” he breathed, adjusting his jacket out of habit. “I imagine Freya wouldn’t be too pleased to spot bloodstains on her rugs. The overall style of this cozy family house is worth appraising; for someone who spent the better years of her long lifetime asleep, she did acquire such refined taste…”

“Do me a favor and cut the wild goose chase, my darling Tristan,” Elijah reminded him. His hand had departed from Tristan’s chest to rest on this throat, his fingernails digging faint crescent imprints on the skin of his Adam’s apple, restraining him in a manner he knew Tristan would fancy rather than abhor.

Feeling the organ bobbing as response to Tristan’s smallest reaction brought Elijah a euphoric sense of dominance. It was even better when the younger vampire was more than willing to submit himself.

Elijah almost felt sorry for the absence of their strange dynamic which he had established with no partner save the one in front of him.

“I would like to trade some information in exchange for Rory’s freedom and mine. I trust the she-wolf packed her up along with her few belongings on the way out of New Orleans? If I can have your words on that, we shall advance to the rest of the deal.”

“She did,” Elijah chuckled. “An asset is still an asset, no matter how low its price has dipped. Provided that we can set dear old demented Aurora on the loose again, how about you? The best we can do is scourge you up from the seabed, no more. As far as I’m concerned, the seal on your genie lamp is marked ‘everlasting’.”

“One thing we’ve learnt from our tangled history with witches is every magic has a loophole. That’s how the mighty Mikaelsons narrowly escaped The Beast’s death sentence, isn’t it? The Serratura is no different.”

Elijah’s dark eyes narrowed, half-suspicion, half-intrigued. “You originally intended to use it to trap us for all of eternity, and now you claim it has a loophole?”

“Loopholes exist despite our will, Elijah,” Tristan said, shrugging. “As a matter of fact, Aya had been working on discovering the key to unlock the Seraturra. Her research, though incomplete, was not without merit.”

“What did she find?”

“I haven’t had your words, Elijah. Rory’s freedom and mine for your cures, including Rebekah’s hex.”

“Should I place my trust in you, huhm?” Elijah asked, leaning in so that his breath ghosted over the shell of Tristan’s left ear.

Once again the vampire had to admire the power of the mind – if the body had experienced a sensation, gotten used to it, the mind would replicate it to ghastly detail.

“After all it was you who co-starred Lucien in this farce.”

“We were allies once but our allegiance was fragile as our mutual trust. In fact, the whole ‘Beast’ affair was the peasant’s brainchild. Besides-”

In a bold move that was outside his usual submissive spectrum, Tristan reached up and fixed Elijah’s perfectly knotted tie, not-so-absent-mindedly pressing his thumb to his sire’s throat in the same manner Elijah’s fingernails were marking his neck. Unexpected yet unsurprised, Elijah allowed his rebellious act.

“If I am to pick a side, yours seems to have the brightest prospect of winning.”

A laugh.

“Considering your dire state, we are the only ones with whom you can bargain.”

“True,” Tristan admitted, “but as a wise man said, ‘make peace with your enemies, not your friends’, and an ally is better than none. I believe we have a common enemy: Marcel Gerard.”

“How is it so? Wasn’t he a prominent candidate that you hand-picked?”

Tristan’s voice was edged with chill. “He took the Strix oath and he murdered his brothers and sisters. You may not bat an eye for those who perished for you, but I do, and I intend to do right by them.”

Elijah’s eyes bore into Tristan’s blue irises, now seemingly ablaze by his rare display of emotions, as if trying to extract his true intention from them. He said, after a silent while, “You have my words. You and Aurora shall both be free, and you may seek justice or vengeance as you please.”

“Thank you. As such I shall fulfill my end of the bargain. For years the Strix had been searching high and low for a particular rare subspecies of witches who all originated from a coven…”

…

Kol and Rebekah were still giving Tristan the murder eyes when Elijah and Tristan joined them in the living room.

“Don’t tell me the twit is going to breathe the same air as the rest of us,” Rebekah was the first to voice her displease.

“He is going to stay here with us,” Elijah replied. “At least he’s going to provide some entertainment to while away our time here.”

“Hah, you mean by experimenting the various methods of dismemberment on him, then putting him back only to do it again?” Kol chuckled darkly, pointing to said subject of his future ‘experiments’.

“Typical Kol Mikaelson,” Tristan said, shaking his head. “And yet I heard you were softened by the ultimate power of love.”

“Don’t ruin our furniture,” reminded Elijah as he left the three of them to squabble and took Freya to a quieter room.

(By the time the two eldest Mikaelsons came back from their discussion, their younger siblings and Tristan were already engulfed in a fierce battle of who could build a hotel first.

“I’ll be the bank,” announced Freya as she hopped in and claimed her post.)

…

“The Siphoners… Yes, I heard of them during my sporadic conscious episodes throughout the centuries. They are a strange, dangerous and rare kind of witches who could siphon magic from other witches and dark objects. From what I know, the few of them were shunned by their own people, hunted and eventually trapped in a prison world.”

“And became vampires, or Heretics, according to the Strix’s research. Tristan theorized that their siphoning ability may be the cures to us, even Rebekah’s curse.”

There was a sharp glint in Freya’s light-colored eyes. “He may have a point,” she said, stroking her chin. “Marcel’s bites, Rebekah’s mark and the Seraturra are all sources of magical energy which can be siphoned and rendered devoid of magic.”

“If only we could communicate with Hayley and give her a headstart.”

“Worry not, brother,” she assured him. “With three Original vampires and an ancient vampire here, I’m sure we can come up with a little spell…”

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> I just really really miss Tristan~~.


End file.
